


change of air and scene

by frausorge



Category: Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/F, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/pseuds/frausorge
Summary: Miss Fairfax had declined Emma's original invitation for a drive in the carriage, but Emma hoped that she might yet persuade her.





	change of air and scene

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Pensnest for helpful beta! The title is from the novel itself.

Miss Fairfax had declined Emma's original invitation for a drive in the carriage, but Emma hoped that she might yet persuade her if she could but be admitted to see her, and accordingly drove to Mrs Bates's the next day. There was again something of a bustle within when "Miss Woodhouse" was announced. However, the outcome proved more favourable, for Miss Fairfax remained in the room to meet her, though looking very pale and drawn—worse than Emma had imagined.

"Miss Fairfax," she said, "I entreat you, let me have the pleasure of your company for a quiet drive. You must be hearing all the noise and business of Highbury here, placed as centrally as you are. I can promise you an hour or two of calm as a change. James shall drive us in the very quietest lanes of the country, if you will only join me."

Miss Fairfax did not visibly soften, but she made no immediate answer, which Emma, braced for another absolute denial, felt to be a positive sign. Miss Bates next joined in to represent to her niece all the advantages of exercise and a change of air. "It is just what Mr Perry recommended, you know, and it would please your grandmamma so much—so very concerned as she has been—and myself as well. Not stirring out of doors at all—and such a fine day, too!—I must admit I have been most worried. You could not do better than to go, my dear Jane—indeed you could not."

It was impossible to say which argument carried the most weight, but it ended in Miss Fairfax bowing her head and saying, "Very well," and that was all that Emma required. She rose; Miss Fairfax rose as well; and with only a few more minutes' delay while Miss Bates searched for some additional shawls to send with them, they found themselves seated in the carriage.

Emma ventured a sentence or two on the clearness of the weather, as the horses began to move. Miss Fairfax's answer was so slight, however, that Emma thought better of pressing for further conversation, and determined instead to offer that silent attendance that she herself had so lately, in this very carriage, been grateful to receive. She turned her eyes to the window and lost herself a little in her own thoughts.

It was not until they turned a corner from one lane into another that Emma roused herself to look back at her companion and realized that Miss Fairfax's face was wet with weeping. She made no noise, but pressed a handkerchief to her eyes again and again, and still fresh tears escaped. Emma drew a quick breath, but no words came to her. Instead, she dared to take Miss Fairfax's unoccupied hand in hers. She saw Miss Fairfax's mouth contract painfully, but they each drew another breath, and another, and the hand was not withdrawn. So Emma went on sitting in silence, feeling Miss Fairfax's fingers grow warm beneath hers, till their circuit was accomplished and the carriage drew up again before Mrs Bates's door. 

Miss Fairfax then cleared her throat to speak, but Emma did not let her get beyond a faint "kindness" and "obligation" before breaking in to say, "I shall call for you about the same time tomorrow, if that suits you." Miss Fairfax nodded her acquiescence, descended, and was gone.

 

She was decidedly calmer when she joined Emma the following day, though still so pale that Emma feared she was otherwise hardly improved. "Miss Woodhouse," she began, "I must beg your forgiveness for my behaviour to you yesterday. My silence—my want of composure—they were a very poor return for your kindness."

"There is no occasion for apology," Emma said. "My object was to be giving you an interval of quiet and of rest; and what could be more gratifying to me than for you to behave in the manner that afforded you the greatest relief? I am sensible that I have too often neglected the office of a friend toward you, and only hope that I may now contribute something to restoring your peace."

"Peace!" said Miss Fairfax. "I fear no friend's goodness could bring peace within my reach, when it has been my own error that removed me so far from it. And yet,"—this last in a quieter tone, more to herself than to Emma—"now that I have torn that error out by the root, may I not hope for something like tranquility, in time?"

Emma was most sorely tempted to ask what error Miss Fairfax could accuse herself of, but, valiantly subduing her curiosity, said instead: "I believe you cannot do better, if that is your goal, than to look after your health. Air and exercise and rest may help dispel anxieties that weigh upon one more heavily when confined."

"Perhaps you have the right of it," was all the reply Miss Fairfax made. 

 

Emma did not press the point any farther then, but she continued to return with the carriage till Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax's daily drive became quite a settled plan. Miss Fairfax's tranquility, or at least her composure, did seem to increase. Her strength, however, did not. The day was fast approaching when she was to set out for her new situation with Mrs Smallridge, and still she looked weak, her appetite depressed, and Emma would not yet even venture to suggest changing their drive for a walk. The greatest distance Miss Fairfax could manage on foot was her trip to the post office.

"Would it not be better to put off your departure?" Emma asked. Miss Fairfax shook her head.

"It must be," she said, "and that being so, it may as well be now."

Emma disagreed most heartily, but felt she had no authority to dispute further. Fortunately Miss Bates insisted upon having Mr Perry come to examine her niece, and he gave it as his decided opinion that Miss Fairfax was not yet equal to the duties of the position she had accepted. Finally Miss Fairfax agreed to send Mrs Smallridge a request to defer her arrival by another fortnight. Mrs Elton had some remarks to make about those who tempted others into idleness, but as Miss Fairfax wrote and posted her letter to Mrs Smallridge herself, there was nothing left for Mrs Elton to do.

 

Emma had hoped to find Miss Fairfax better the day after this letter was sent. Her appearance when she stepped into the carriage was therefore doubly a shock—paler than ever, all progress erased, with reddened eyes and trembling hands. 

"What is this!" Emma cried. "What can have happened? Are you hurt, Miss Fairfax?"

"No—no. I am well; well enough for exercise."

"But do you require assistance?"

"Nothing can do me so much good just now as going for our drive."

Despite her grave concern, Emma could not help but feel pleased to hear herself noticed as a source of comfort. On an impulse she reached out and took Miss Fairfax's hand, and this time Miss Fairfax curled her fingers round Emma's in an answering grip.

"Something has happened this morning," Emma repeated, once they were fairly out of Highbury. Miss Fairfax bowed her head. "I will not press you. But let me assure you that if you wish, you may at any time confide in me. I am ready to listen, to act, to do anything in my power to assist you."

Miss Fairfax turned her eyes to the window. Then she turned back to Emma. "Miss Woodhouse," she said, "if I hesitate to speak, do not imagine that I do not feel all the goodness of your offer. It is rather that I have kept the rule of silence for so long, and that I dread the blame that must follow a description of my error. But perhaps it is fitting that I explain myself to you, so that I may apologize for the occasions when I have been unjust toward you. It is partly through you, after all, that I learned to see the harm in what I was doing, and to wish to correct it."

"My dear Miss Fairfax!" Emma protested. But she subsided at a pained look from her companion. 

"This morning," Miss Fairfax said, "on my way to the post office, I met Mr Frank Churchill in the street."

"Here? In Highbury?" Emma said. "But we had heard that his uncle could not spare him at all, at this sad time. Mr Weston said he did not expect to see him again this summer."

"He did not come to visit his father. He came seeking me."

Emma blinked, and then she stared more and more as Miss Fairfax poured out her story. How they had met at Weymouth; how he had flattered, charmed, and pursued her; how she had allowed herself to believe his regard sincere, and to be convinced of the necessity of secrecy when she accepted his offer. Then came his careless and callous behavior when she saw him again in Highbury; her jealousy of his attentions to an unsuspecting Emma; her increasing doubts, and growing distress at the error into which she had been led. Finally she told of the letter she wrote to him to dissolve their engagement, his surprising silence, and her even greater surprise when he accosted her in person, days later, instead; the urgency with which he then pleaded for reconciliation, the bitter certainty with which she refused, and his hasty and angry departure.

"Do you think me very wrong?" Miss Fairfax said when she had finished. Tears had come into her eyes, particularly while she was describing that morning's encounter, but she had spoken earnestly and steadily to the end. "Since I began to see how much ill the deception could do, I have blamed myself more and more for ever consenting to it."

Emma shook her head. "I could not presume to judge," she said. "I who have allowed myself to be misled by the mere appearance of attention from that quarter—I can only imagine his power of persuasion when he was truly seeking to influence you. And the origin of the error lay all with him. He ought not to have made you an offer until he could do so openly."

"I was so happy when I thought he cared for me. I thought that would make all right in the end. I did not understand then that his interest was not of a kind to give him greater respect for my situation, nor for those to whom he had owed respect much longer: his aunt and uncle, his father and Mrs Weston, and his neighbours. It has only been here in Highbury that I came to see how little his amiability is supported by real concern for anything but his own self-interest. And then I knew that I had been doubly mistaken, not only in the propriety of hiding the engagement, but in the character of the man himself. I am now convinced we should never have been happy together under the best of circumstances; he might only have imposed on me longer."

"And all this you have had to undergo all these months without any friend or confidante!"

"Until now," Miss Fairfax said. Emma squeezed her hand. "And even now, I must ask you to keep my confidence wherever possible, though it pains me to force you into secrecy as well. It would be better for those still unaware of what never should have been, to remain so. Even my own dear aunt and grandmother—or perhaps especially them. They would be so grieved, and to no purpose."

"That is no hardship," said Emma. 

 

A week slipped away, and Miss Fairfax, with a mind settled at last, finally seemed to be making real gains in strength. Emma saw it with mixed pleasure and regret, knowing that each step of improvement brought Miss Fairfax's departure closer. They were no longer silent on their drives. Miss Fairfax took eagerly to the relief of voicing all she had not been able to speak aloud till then, and they both recalled a thousand circumstances from the last several months, comparing their memories and throwing new light on what had occurred. 

It was not in the nature of either to dwell long on painful subjects, however, and they passed gradually to recollecting earlier visits, looking back sometimes even as far as their childhoods. Miss Fairfax told how she had envied Emma's confidence and composure on an occasion when they had both been called upon to recite before company; Emma laughed and confessed in turn how she had resented the praise heaped on Miss Fairfax's superior memory. Then Emma recalled a dinner she had given at Hartfield in her first days as a young hostess, during which Miss Fairfax's near silence had much dismayed her, and Miss Fairfax explained how her ill-fitting shoes had hurt her feet so much all evening that silence was the most she could achieve. Emma was astonished to find how many circumstances that had formerly grieved her could now make the two of them burst out into laughter together. 

She began to wish she might dare make their outings longer, but she knew she must not monopolize Miss Fairfax's time in that manner when her grandmother and aunt had the superior claim.

 

On the Monday of the following week, Emma was just dressing when she was interrupted by an urgent note from her friend. Still somewhat heavy-eyed, she could not comprehend it for a moment, and then its meaning broke upon her. They had not been able to wake Mrs Bates that morning: she had died in her sleep.

As soon as Emma could grasp this, she made herself ready as quickly as she could and set out on the path to Highbury. Reaching the house, she was admitted to the sitting room and found Miss Bates sunk upon the sofa, with Miss Fairfax attending her. Emma squeezed Miss Fairfax's hand once in greeting and then applied herself to consoling Miss Bates's grief, hoping thereby to give Miss Fairfax time to attend to her own stunned emotions. 

Miss Bates was not silent, but there were long intervals between her sentences. "There was no change in her yesterday," she told Emma. Then several moments later, she added, "I did not suspect anything."

Emma's heart fairly ached for her. There was tea on the table; Emma poured out a cup and pressed it on her. Beyond that, Emma could think of no better kindness she might offer than to listen to the painful account of the discovery, and to remain at Miss Bates's side until Mrs Goddard arrived, while Miss Fairfax conferred with those who must come in such a case. 

At midday Emma persuaded Miss Fairfax to sit down and swallow some mouthfuls of food; and only the knowledge of her father's being at home alone could have forced her to leave.

 

There was now no further question of Miss Fairfax's going to Mrs Smallridge. It was impossible for her to think of leaving her aunt. Even Mrs Elton could not scold her much for sending the letter that declined the position finally and entirely, though there was still a good deal to be said regarding the loss of the advantages Jane would have enjoyed in Mrs Smallridge's family, and the very small probability of her meeting with such another situation, or even one half as good. Emma felt all the offence of such remarks at such a time, but knowing herself to be a very inopportune champion against attacks from that quarter, refrained from intervening on behalf of her friend. 

Instead, she applied herself to a more serious concern—the question of where Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax were to live. Mrs Bates's small means had been chiefly in the form of a pension, which had ended with her life, and without this contribution, the income that Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax could command was insufficient for the rent on their rooms. Their landlords were neither hardhearted nor unreasonable, so there was no fear of their being turned out immediately. However, people of business could not be expected to maintain non-paying tenants indefinitely.

Miss Fairfax could have elected to make at least a temporary home with Colonel and Mrs Campbell, but the same limitations still prevented such a choice. It was not in their power to provide for her in the long term, even less so when there was the aunt to consider as well as the niece; and Miss Fairfax felt moreover, as she told Emma during one morning's drive, that it would be an incredible piece of cruelty to remove Miss Bates from Highbury. To be ripped away from the friends and society among whom she had spent her whole life, at a time when she was mourning the loss of the beloved mother to whom she had devoted her best years—it must crush her spirits entirely. 

Miss Fairfax was therefore beginning to look about for any abode within the neighbourhood of Highbury that they might be able to afford, and inquired of Emma whether she knew of any unoccupied cottages among those where she paid her charitable visits. Emma, however, had been forming an entirely different plan. The more she reflected, the more it seemed to her that there was no house so eligible to receive them as Hartfield.

Her father might require some persuasion, but she believed that when the change were once over, he would find his comfort markedly increased by the presence of his old and dear friend Miss Bates to keep him company during all the long evenings. He held Miss Fairfax in very high regard as well, and though to Emma Miss Fairfax's friendship was something quite different than Mrs Weston's, Mr Woodhouse would likely still be pleased to see his daughter find a new companion in the place of poor Miss Taylor. It would be increasing the comforts of home, and decreasing the danger of Emma's being persuaded to marry and leave Hartfield. And in addition to all these arguments, Emma felt sure that an appeal to his generosity for the sake of relieving Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax from their straitened circumstances could not fail.

How to persuade Miss Fairfax and Miss Bates themselves, was another question. Emma knew their pride would forbid them to accept any offer that appeared too like charity. However, she hoped that by representing to them all the good she expected to derive from their presence at Hartfield, for both her father and herself, she might overcome these objections. If any yet proved intractable, Emma planned to hint to each lady what a hardship it would be to the other to forgo this opportunity, and so convince them to accept on each other's behalf what they might decline on their own.

 

She made the proposal to Miss Fairfax first, and though she was met at first with the expected grateful but immediate refusal, managed to extract a promise to give the idea further consideration. Next, Emma approached her father. There she found a more willing mind than she had dared to rely upon. Mr Woodhouse's peace had been so much disturbed by the loss of his friend Mrs Bates, and the uncertainty as to what was to become of Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, that the idea of securing their comfort and his own by seeing them safe at Hartfield was very acceptable to him. His only stipulation was that nothing was to be done in a rush.

Finally, having arranged with Miss Fairfax that the question should at least be discussed, Emma spoke to Miss Bates as well. 

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse!" said that lady. "Your goodness is beyond anything!—I am quite overcome. But there is truly no occasion for it. I am sure we shall soon find suitable rooms. Hartfield! well!—Indeed it would— but no, no, it is too much, far too much, I am sure. Jane and I thank you a thousand times, but we could not possibly accept such an offer."

Miss Bates turned her eyes to her niece as she spoke, and despite her words, Emma thought Miss Bates's expression spoke more of hope than of displeasure.

"You might come to us as a temporary measure, if you like," Emma said quickly, "as a place from which to continue your search. You could then look about you with all due care and deliberation, and not be rushed into a decision too soon out of mere expedience."

"True," said Miss Bates, "very true. Well—what say you, my dear?"

Miss Fairfax could not be proof against her aunt's evident relief. All that then remained for Emma to do was to attempt to stem the expressions of gratitude that flowed in greater profusion than ever before.

 

The reactions of their neighbours, when this plan became known, were much as Emma had expected. Mrs Goddard, Mr Perry, and Miss Bates's other particular friends were most heartily delighted. Mrs Elton was incensed. She could not quite claim that Miss Fairfax would miss advantages at Hartfield that might have been gained in another family, but she lost no opportunity to remind anyone who would listen of her own considerable, now wasted and unappreciated efforts on Miss Fairfax's behalf. It appeared that Miss Fairfax must resign herself to the loss of a friend and sponsor.

Mrs Weston was quietly pleased—satisfied that Emma should have a more constant companion again, and happy for that companion to be Miss Fairfax, whose character she felt would steady Emma's occasional caprice and whose abilities and interests were a more equal match for Emma's than Harriet's. 

Harriet's importance at Hartfield must sink, as indeed it had already begun to do since the advent of Emma's daily outings with Miss Fairfax. Harriet herself had withdrawn further still after a very awkward conversation. Shortly after Mrs Churchill's death, and before Emma had learned any more of his history from Miss Fairfax, Emma had attempted to commiserate with Harriet on Mr Frank Churchill's indefinitely extended absence from Highbury society. Harriet, however, rebuffed the idea that that gentleman's movements could affect her, and it then emerged that she had set her sights entirely elsewhere—in short, on Mr Knightley. 

Emma could not quite master her surprise, and though Harriet spoke of Mr Knightley as her superior, she showed a little natural resentment at the idea that Emma thought him too far above Harriet to allow her any hope. Emma spoke as graciously as she could once her initial astonishment wore off, and after they parted, resolved to do Harriet whatever kindness she could to demonstrate her esteem. The earliest opportunity was easily taken. Harriet suffered from toothache, and Emma arranged for her to travel to London and stay with Isabella in order to consult a dentist. Mr Knightley might occasionally visit his brother during Harriet's stay as well, so Emma felt she had done all she could to promote Harriet's happiness.

 

Mr Knightley still came to Hartfield often enough to hear all the plans for Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax to be received there, and his was the only response that Emma had not predicted. She had looked forward to his approbation, his acknowledgment that she was finally showing the ladies in question all the attention and support they deserved from her. Yet he did not smile when the topic was first broached in his presence, one evening when he had walked to Hartfield to join Emma and her father for dinner, and he looked even more serious when he drew Emma aside to speak to her privately.

"Emma," he said, "I know that you mean to do kindly by Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, but have you truly considered this plan thoroughly?"

"I have, and it seems to me the most eligible proposal under the circumstances. Why," she asked, attempting to laugh off her disappointment at his tone, "have we found another subject on which we cannot agree? Do you disapprove it?"

"I will not say the idea is wrong in itself, but it would be wrong to enter upon it lightly. If Miss Bates and her niece are once settled here, you must be prepared to maintain them here. What may seem like kindness now would become unutterable cruelty if you were to turn them out later."

"I do heartily agree with you there, and let me assure you I have every intention of keeping them with me permanently—for the rest of their lives, if they wish it. I see no occasion for any change. As you know I have always said I shall never marry, and what is to keep us, then, from going on perfectly happily together?"

Mr Knightley paused before speaking again. "Are you so sure that you shall never wish for a home of your own?"

"I am as certain as it is possible to be. Marriage holds nothing to tempt me. And what place could be more my home than Hartfield?" said Emma.

"But how will you feel when you must share that home with someone whose conversation has so often irritated you, whom you have sometimes struggled to treat with respect? If things should come to such a pass again as they did earlier this summer, your being in such close quarters would make all a hundred times worse."

Tears came into Emma's eyes. "I own that I was wrong, very wrong, on the occasion to which you allude. What you said to me then was not more than I deserved. But I have attempted most sincerely to mend my behaviour since that time, and learned to value my neighbours as highly as they deserve, at any distance. The offer I have made is intended as a sign of the highest respect and esteem. If my words cannot convince you now, I must hope that my behaviour will do so in the future."

"Forgive me, Emma," he said quietly. "I have let my surprise lead me astray. I do honour the generosity of your spirit. Come, let us be friends."

"We have always been friends," she said, "and I hope we always shall be."

Mr Knightley still did not look so entirely pleased as Emma had hoped. However, he voiced no farther opposition, and she determined to be satisfied with that. 

 

Emma had feared that the loss of Mrs Bates might undo the gains Miss Fairfax had made in strength. However, as keenly as she felt it, Miss Fairfax did not seem to be failing as she had under the weight of her earlier anxieties. She was promoted on Mr Perry's advice to longer walks in place of their drives, and Emma was glad to see her growing stronger still from the additional exercise. Now that a glance at Miss Fairfax's face no longer occasioned immediate concern, Emma found herself returning to the pleasure she had always felt in looking at her. The elegance of Miss Fairfax's figure, the grace of her movements, the expression of her grey eyes, all united to make observing her an enjoyment all its own. Occasionally she looked up and noticed Emma's eyes on her, and returned to Emma's smile an uncertain smile of her own.

 

The preparation of Miss Bates's and Miss Fairfax's belongings was now nearly accomplished. Miss Bates's favourite chair and writing table were wrapped in blankets to be conveyed to Hartfield, and their books, papers, and clothes were carefully packed. The beds and other larger items of furniture, which would not be wanted at Hartfield, had been designated for distribution to such families in the cottages as would have a use for them. There was one item only, Miss Fairfax told Emma, that she could not determine how to dispose of, and that was the pianoforté. 

"I am sure we can find a place for it," said Emma. "Such a fine instrument! Perhaps in the morning room—or in your own room? Let us take the measurements when we return."

"I must confess," Miss Fairfax answered, "as fine as it is, I would prefer not to bring it with me. It is too painful a reminder. You see, it was not a gift from Colonel Campbell, though I could not dispute that assumption publicly. It was from—from Mr Frank Churchill."

"Oh!" said Emma, and squeezed her friend's hand. "In that case, let me assure you that though you may play upon the instrument already at Hartfield as much as you wish, there will unfortunately be no space whatsoever for this one."

Miss Fairfax gave Emma a faint smile. "I bow to that necessity," she said. "But what is to be done with it?"

"Suppose you were to offer it to Mrs Goddard?" Emma said, after reflecting. "I imagine her pupils might make more use of it than anyone else in Highbury."

"That is very true," said Miss Fairfax. "Yes. That will be a proper and useful end to a most ill-advised beginning."

 

The day of the move arrived. It dawned hot and clear, with no risk of Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax's belongings being rained upon in transit, which Emma took as an auspicious start. She called in the carriage for the two ladies, together with such bags, baskets, parcels, and hatboxes as were not fit for the rougher journey in the carts. Miss Bates did not wait to be seated to renew her expressions of gratitude, which Emma, in so cheerful a mood that she could be gracious without effort, attempted to curtail only when modesty demanded it. 

Miss Bates had other feelings to express as well; she could not quit what had been her own and her mother's home for so many years, without some regrets, and these Emma heard and acknowledged with real sympathy. Privately she rejoiced that she herself would never be called upon to leave her own beloved home!

Miss Fairfax spoke very little, only now and then reassuring her aunt that such and such an article had not been forgotten, or that they might easily return to retrieve it if it had. She met Emma's eyes from time to time, however, with an expression of deep satisfaction.

Upon their arrival, Emma cajoled her new companions into sitting down to take some refreshment while their belongings were carried into their rooms. Mr Woodhouse joined them as well. He had had an anxious morning fearing for the safety of the carts and the carriage with their unusual loads, but once convinced that there had been no upsets on the road, he was quite pleased that his friends were now ensconced in the safety of Hartfield. 

After their meal, when all had been unloaded, Emma retreated to the garden to allow the ladies time for all the business of unpacking and arranging everything to their liking. She walked for some time in the avenues, and when she began to be tired, found a seat in the shade where she could enjoy the air in a more leisurely way. It was there that Miss Fairfax found and joined her, sitting down next to Emma on the bench.

"I am so pleased that you are here," said Emma.

Miss Fairfax opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she took Emma's hand, lifted it, and pressed it to her lips.

It was the softest touch Emma could ever recall feeling. She sat perfectly still for a moment, looking down at their hands still clasped on the bench between them. Miss Fairfax's eyes were fixed on the trees at the end of the avenue, the colour rising in her cheeks. Emma's heart beat faster and faster. She tightened her fingers on Miss Fairfax's, and neither of them let go.


End file.
